Tag Archives: dating

Yesterday, my wife got official notice she’d been awarded her PhD. We were both ecstatic. Date night tonight, we decided. I worked late – much later than we expected – and so we weren’t sure if our previously planned dinner and a movie would work. We decided to do dinner (The Habit) and then see if we had time to make the 8:05 showing of The Martian at the new cinema practically next door. As we finished our chips (French fries to most Americans), we decided the movie was a go. The cinema we headed to is brand new. Like, been-open-maybe-3-weeks new. It’s called Angelika and it is a high-end, reclining seat/foot-rest, fancy food, digital projector cinema. We’d heard good things and were eager to try it. Normally, if we want to go to for a high-end film evening, we have to drive over to the coast. This new theater is only 15 minutes away.

We got to the lobby at 8:05. Recall our movie start time? Anyway, there was quite a ticket line and the two registers weren’t plowing through it fast enough. We tried to use the self service option, as well as Fandango, but neither was working (maybe they are connected). I politely asked a manager if there was any other way to get our tickets. He apologized for the delay but said there was not.

It’s not his fault we were late, obviously, so we thanked him and waited. My wife went to grab our snacks and I joined her with our tickets. Not only do they have those neat soda machines with 10,000 flavors, but Angelika serves craft beer, 8 taps of local beer to be exact (with 1 visiting beer from Avery Brewing in Colorado).

Chris, General Manager, Angelika San Diego

There was a glitch with the register and so they happily sent us into the theater and said they’d bring our credit card to us later. Again, us being late not their fault.

We went and found our dedicated seats: big, leather, comfy ones with a swing-out tray (like an old school desk, only much, much cooler). Only down side? Not loveseats like some have. Cuddling over the soft armrest still achievable, though. The cashier brought my card in almost immediately and asked me to stop after the movie to sign. We thoroughly enjoyed the movie, but we did not eat our caramel popcorn. It seemed a bit burned.

After the movie, we went out to sign the receipt and ask if they would refund us for the popcorn. Not only were they apologetic and happy to refund our money, they gave us a fresh bag and offered me another beer while they handled the refund. The manager from the ticket line came and found us to offer us 2 free tickets to return. Again he apologized for the delay in ticketing – though they didn’t do anything wrong. A different manager, Chris handled the refund and I complemented the beer selection. When he said he was responsible for the drafts, we had a nice chat. I asked Chris to pose for the glamorous tap shot above.

My wife and I wandered to the lobby to finish my beer and our popcorn, marveling at the outstanding customer service. To a person, they were kind, polite, and extremely helpful. We were both so impressed we thought a review was fitting.

If you are in San Diego, come check out our newest high-end cinema. If you are not, check Angelika’s website as they are in several other states (NY, VA, DC, and TX). Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had the Lost and Found from Lost Abbey.

I broke my interviewing cherry with Kiyomi McCloskey from Hunter Valentine. Now, don’t worry. I already know that I am not a journalist (surprise!), nor do I write for Rolling Stone, so I decided to just talk to Kiyomi — and, of course, ask questions that I thought people who read my blog would be interested in: things about beer, fashion, travel, dating, and being butch. If you want more of the “who’s your musical influence”-type questions, go check out Hunter Valentine’s website. Oh, and Google them, as many journalists do. Read the rest of this interview on the Huffington Post:

While you are there, would you please hit the “like” button next to my name at the top of the page? This is to like me as an author, rather than liking the particular article. Of course, you can do that too. ;o) Thank you!

So, in my last post I left off with the statement, “Umm, how about a strip club?” Well…

Yes! We had a winner. Into a cab we piled and headed way off the strip to Olympic Gardens. I’ve never been here before, but it’s a bit of a Vegas institution. The bottom floor is women strippers, and the top is men. Something for everyone. As we got into cab, the bellman said, “OG.” I took it as a compliment. Yeah, we are original gangsters because – you know – we were rolling like that. LOL. I mean, really. Three white lesbians cocked and ready to go. Oh yea.

No, Butch, you lame ass. That’s what they call the club. So, off to OG we “rolled.”

Now, I have been to plenty of strip clubs in my day. Enough to relax about it. But, being single. Being in Vegas. With good friends. I got excited. Like when you are about-to-board-a-roller-coaster excited. In we went, slightly (fairly?) intoxicated.

I imagine that a few of you reading this might never have been to a strip club – perish the thought! As I have written before, I am available to be your wingman or tour guide for such an outing. Or, better yet, take your girlfriend – that’s hot. In the meantime, allow me to set the stage – so to speak. I mean, you won’t find Butch dancing on any poles – at least not in public!

All the strip clubs I have been to are laid out the same. There is a long dark hallway leading up to the entrance. Some have a cover charge you’ll pay when you show your ID and others do not. If they do not, they might have a two drink minimum, or maybe not. OG has a cover. Once paid and our IDs were checked, we moved into the club proper, also dark, though lighter than the hallway. Usually near the door is a bar, and a cashier. Past that is the main body of the club. A stage in the center of the room, with a varying number of poles for dancers. Flanking the stage will be front row seats. Further back from the stage, you will find tables and chairs, and still further back in the shadows, you will find booths. Sometimes, there are also back rooms and curtained off areas. I would avoid those for sure – no matter how nice the club is. But of course, to each her own.

Our first stop was for singles from the cashier – I got a lot. Second, my friend has found the perfect spot by the stage. At OG, there are 4 poles on the stage, but it looks like at any given time on this evening, only one will be in use. I kid you not, that within one dancer (a set of three songs) of us being there, every stripper used the pole right in front of us. And, do you know why? Because we were a group of lesbians. Respectful, well-behaved lesbians. And we were all tipping. So politely, too. The strippers must have sent up a flare. “OVER HERE! Kind Lesbians who won’t grope you. Dance over here, Ladies!”

A lovely, hard-working woman on a pole. Do you know how hard this is to do?

And they did. And we didn’t. Lesbians must be the most respectful audience at a strip club. Why? We love women, so we pay attention. We love women, so we are respectful and super appreciative of: 1) how hard it is to move like that, 2) how difficult it is to stay looking like that, and 3) how gross it must be to dance for straight men all day. Sorry, guys. You must admit that strip clubs are not your best environment. You kinda come here to let loose, right? And, drop those gentlemanly manners of yours. Well, I don’t think that’s true for lesbians. At least not for me, and not for my friends.

So, we had lots of dancers focused on us. Stopping by, dancing close, of course, to encourage us to tip. The first dancer who came up to me asks me if I am single, and I said yes. My friends aren’t, so guess who got the most attention? This lesbian right here. How much fun was this! Beautiful women dancing for me, expecting nothing other than I pay attention and keep slipping ones into the various strings that they are wearing solely for this purpose. I’m not leaving here with a stripper. I’m not heading into any back room. Right? So, all I have to do is enjoy the femme attention. Oh, and keep paying for it with that big stack of ones in front of me. Done.

Now, as butch as I am, and as much as I like to pretend that I am a player (did I say pretend?), I am quite embarrassed to actually deliver the ones. I want to tip because I appreciate their work, but I am afraid to touch them because that seems so disrespectful. Thus, I have to be told that it is indeed ok to slide the dollar bill into the dancers’ g-string, or even better, they explain, into the special snappy string that they are wearing underneath the g-string. Yikes. [“Umm, where should I put it?” “Wherever you like, honey!”] After a few tries, I got it down. One dancer actually said to me when I verbalized my hesitation, “Honey! We are strippers, grab away. If you’ve got a one for me, slide it wherever you like!” I’m pretty sure I blushed – because, you know, I am just (not) that cool.

As long as I’ve got my suit and tie…

So, there I am. All dressed up (three piece navy blue suit, dress shirt, bow tie, cufflinks, etc.). With good friends. Drinking. And, having a procession of young, attractive women with lithe bodies doting on us and me. Sigh. Some of you will think me a pig, I realize, and that’s ok. I had fun and if you don’t like it, so be it.

I finally had the nerve to get a lap dance. First time in my life. The dancer had come over almost as soon as we sat down and started chatting me up. As you do. Anyway, later in the evening, I decided to go for it. We headed over to one of those couches – remember the ones that are just past the tables and more in shadows?

There was a lot, a lot, of chatting at the start, something I’m sure is not normal with male patrons. The stripper told me all about her family and why she was dancing. Then she shifted to the main event and started to dance kind of around, in front, and over me. It lasted longer than I thought it would, even though I bought a second dance.

When I went back to my friends, they peppered me with questions. How was it? Was it worth it? How do you feel? Blushing, I am pretty sure, I answered that it was nice. Much more intimate than I expected, but not gross. I got roundly teased and then we all turned our attention back to the dancers on stage. Those ones won’t tip themselves!

As we left the club, that dancer ran up to me and gave me a hug. She was topless as she had just left the patron (male, natch) that she was with and came to say goodbye to us. I guess we left an impression on her and others. What with being polite, respectful, and good tippers. Plus, we stood out. A group of very tall lesbians, including a few Butches. Anyway, I was proud of our group, but I suspect that this would be the case with any posse of lesbos. We are just so different in this environment from our male counterparts, and these, dancers, erm, strippers (“Honey!”) appreciated us – or maybe just our ones. :o)

It’s very butch to hit a strip club, and even more butch to make sure you tip well and treat the dancers like angels (such a hard job…). Be Butch.

I’m sitting in a lesbian bar having a beer. I am alone. I only came out to retrieve my Visa that I unceremoniously abandoned here the night before. I was, as you might imagine, having a very good time. I was drinking with a friend and chatting with a lovely femme. (A gentleman won’t share any more than that.) I knew she was a femme because she was here at this lesbian bar. Not out at a hip restaurant or bar in town. Not here with a posse of gay boys. Her presence here, combined with her eye makeup, clothing and generally pleasing girly appearance signaled me. This is a femme, and I knew she was interested in butches because she was “talking” with me.

But what about when I’m not here? What if I’d seen this lovely woman at a conference? At the airport? At Jimbo’s? Shopping at Nordstrom? Rock climbing at the gym? Would I have known she was an option, as it were? Maybe not. And, what a predicament that is. What a pickle.

Geography Makes It Easy

How are we butches supposed to identify our beloved femmes when we are out and about? Obviously, this isn’t an issue when you are introduced by friends, know her as a colleague, or when the geography sends the signal. Like here at this bar.

Outside of those cocoons, though, I think it’s clear that we butches need your help. Femmes, make yourselves known. Reach out. Make eye contact a little longer than is generally considered to be polite. Touch us on the bicep and make a face that signals you are impressed with the massive (cough) muscle you find there. Lean into us a little when chatting. Flip your hair. Touch your face.

In short, you the much fairer species need to make the first move. I and my butch bros will drive from there. But you’ve gotta send up a flare. Throw us a bone. If you’re as pretty and girly as I’m imagining (and you are), I might look at you longingly and then dismiss you as a non-option. I’m sorry, but I might think you are, umm, straight. Not that there’s anything wrong with being straight, mind you. Some of my best friends are straight! But it does limit (although not entirely exclude) my ability to … take you somewhere more quiet.

You might even say, “Oh Butch, I can tell you work out. I bet you could press me easily.” No straight women would ever say such a thing to me, so we’ll be off to the races. [Note: Certainly, there are some straight women that like to flirt with butches, in particular, even though these women think they’re straight. I’ll leave it to you to decide whether you agree with them.]

This is not a post about femme invisibility. I’ve read plenty about how that’s crap. I see you. And so do the rest of my butch friends. You are not invisible. But, this is a cry for help. We don’t like being rejected (who does?). So, bat your eyelashes at me. I will take it from there.

It’s butch to make sure she is actually a femme (as opposed to a lovely straight woman) before turning on the charm. Be Butch.

Dare I talk about this? I feel like a bit of a pariah in my community. I have … two kids. The death knell, I think, for dating. Sure, I know there are lots of lesbians with kids. But, these are mostly married or seriously committed partners who had kids together. That is no longer me – hasn’t been for a while.

It would be bad enough if I was a lovely, maternal looking femme. All soft and fluffy. Perhaps even driving a mini-van (shudder) or some sort of giant Tahoe and wearing a pink cashmere sweater. You know the kind of woman I am talking about? She is a perfect mother. Always has gum, never forgets water for the kid’s practices, can do a perfect French braid. Nurturing. You see her and it’s easy to see her as a mom.

But that’s not me. Nope. I am, in case you haven’t read anything else I have written, a big butch. A proud butch. I’ve got a Mohawk – check that little avatar over there. That’s me. People are ALWAYS surprised that I have kids. So, here I am, a big butch. I get it. I don’t really even talk that much here about having kids. There are several reasons for that. First, it’s not sexy. Second, it’s not always funny (sometimes, sure). And, third, I want to protect them. I am the writer opening myself up to scrutiny, not them.

Speaking of writers, a couple of months ago, my idol Butch Wonders *butch swoon* posted a great piece about dating a woman with kids. I’d like to talk about it from the other side. Here I am starting to date. Out and about. Ready to be suave and charming (don’t laugh, I’ll try hard and try hard not to look like I am trying hard!). And, I have all these questions about my kids and Her – that’s what I’ve nicknamed any woman I might approach or date. Pretty clever, I know.

1. When Do I Tell Her?

Oh, yes. Very suave and charming.

First and foremost, when is the right time to tell Her that I’ve got kids? Do I walk up, buy Her a drink, and as I am handing Her the Cosmo say, “I’ve got kids!” No. Clearly not. Turn off. What? Am I asking Her to marry me? But, how long do I wait? If She comes home with me, She will immediately see evidence of children. If not, it could be kept a bit. Not much more than a few days though, practically, because of my kid obligations. “Butch, let’s go to a movie this weekend.” Oh, I’m sorry, but… I, uh, can’t.” Why? Do I bust out the T-ball/martial arts/chorus practice reason?

I joke, and obviously I need to tell Her relatively quickly, but when? I don’t want Her to think that I am thinking so long-term that She has to be on board with kids now. What if we are just having a bit of fun?

2. When Do I Introduce Her?

My instinct here is pretty strongly that this doesn’t happen until I am very serious about Her. My kids have been through a divorce (from their mom) and the loss of my now-ex gorgeous fiancé. The kids love them both. I don’t think it’s fair to introduce a new Her every couple of months. Kids fall for people pretty quickly, and I don’t want Hers coming in and out of their lives too much.

The problem is that I can see this being a real sticking point with Her. “Don’t you love me?” Yes, I do (at some point, right?). “Well, why can’t I meet your kids?” I want to wait until the time is right. “When will that be?” Gosh, I just don’t know.

3. How Involved Is She Supposed To Be?

Assuming I haven’t scared every Her away, and we’ve moved on to being in love and introductions, what is Her role? My belief is that, although kids can never have too many adults in their lives who love them, they only need so many parents. As I said in Wanted: Femme for Butch, my kids don’t need another mother – they already have 3.

I want Her to be a good role model. I want Her to be kind. I want Her to be happy to see them and spend time with them. But, I don’t want Her so attached that She wants to take over my role. I will handle the care and feeding of my munchkins. She gets to be a happy bystander for the hard stuff, and hopefully, a willing participant in the good stuff.

4. Is It Alright If My Kids Know I am Sleeping With Her, or a Variety of Hers?

Would that I dated often enough to actually have one of these…

Being a shy and proper butch, I am very concerned about my kids knowing that I am committing cardinal sins with Her (or a variety of Hers). Cough. Anyway, religion out of it, I don’t really want my kids thinking about this. We haven’t had the birds and the bees talk yet, so I think I am safe for a while. My point really is that if I date, I don’t want my kids to see a revolving door – regardless of how frequently that door actually revolves. Anyone have any WD-40?

Interestingly enough, my kids gave me the perfect opening to discuss this with them recently. Both of them are pressuring me to get a girlfriend – which if you think about it is adorable and kind of hilarious. Why, guys? “We just want you to have one.” Anyway, when they said this a week or so ago, I jumped at the chance to talk about dating. I said that I was ready to date, and indeed was out and about having fun. I told them that I was going to keep them from the details, that I might start seeing someone and not introduce Her. My daughter was shocked and said, “You are going to date behind our backs?”

I laughed and said, “No, I am going to date right in front of you. I’m just not going to introduce you to anyone for a while.” Why? I explained that I didn’t know when I might find the Her that would be in my life (and, thus, their lives) for a period of time, and I didn’t think it fair to introduce them to a bunch of women. Now, I realize that I might be making myself out to be a real ladies man here, and sadly, this is really not the case. But, hopefully, you get the point. The kids seemed to accept this, although they didn’t like it.

I wish I had a crystal ball the moment I meet Her. One where I could gaze at it and peer into the future. If I could see that She will be in my life a year later, two years later, of course I would introduce Her to the kids. But, how do I know?

One Her to Rule them All

As lucky as I would be to find the One True Her (the one to rule them all) right out of the gate, I think that is unrealistic. Of course, if the Universe sends me the Femme from my Want Ad, I suppose all bets are off. But still, when do I introduce Her to my kids? Help me out, friends.

Just a celebratory note that the Mayans were wrong! We are all still here! Hooray. If I’d really been scared, really been sure the world was ending, then I would have to think that I’ve been given a new life. A brand new chance to make what I want of my life. Wouldn’t I? Shouldn’t we all?

Even though I wasn’t scared, and didn’t think the world was ending (did you?), I choose to receive the gift of a second chance, a new world, a new life. That doesn’t mean I don’t love the life I already have. On the contrary. I’m on the right path. That’s what my post (just before this one) reminded me of.

So, what do I want my new life to be defined by – be it well-entrenched in me or lacking? In no particular order…

Kids. I adore mine. My life is kid-friendly and I want to create a world where they can blossom while they are preparing for the world that’s more challenging.

Honesty. Integrity. Two of the most important words to me. My life is and will be defined by honesty and integrity. I will treat all I encounter with these two words in mind. If you are in my life, you will do the same.

Kindness. I want to be kind and I want kindness in those around me.

Health. I want to make healthy choices to create a healthy mind and body. I want to ward off disease with this attitude of health and the choices that accompany that attitude.

Excitement. Peace. Both are essential ingredients in my life. I crave and enjoy excitement. After the excitement, though, I need and appreciate peace and calm.

Joy. Laughter. As much and as often as possible.

Simplicity. As much as I want awesome trips to Paris, Cairo, the Johnstone Strait, and Phuket, I want to sit at home and play board games with my friends and family. Perhaps, Butchopoly?

Fitness & Strength. I want to be able to lift and pull and press lots of weight. But not to be lots of weight.

Appreciation. Gratitude. Living life to the absolute fullest – which includes feeling sorrow and loss when they are present – and always knowing that every day could be the end of the world for me or someone I adore. There are just too many examples to ignore this fact.

And, of course…Love. I want to share my life with someone beautiful and loving. A femme. She’s soft and sexy. She looks at me in such a special way that – err sorry. There’s lots more to write here, but just look at Wanted: Femme for Butch

Last, but not least…Worth. I want to be a person who is worthy of all these wonderful people and things.

The Mayans were wrong. I’m still here. You are still here. They were busy (a long time ago) preparing for the end of the world. Now it’s my turn to prepare for the rest of my life. How about you?

This one is long. Grab a beer or coffee before reading. Go ahead, I’ll wait… Welcome back! Ready?

I’ve been single for 4 months, and I’ve been thinking that I might be ready to go out. For a while now, friends have been asking, “Can I set you up?” “Are you ready, Butch?” The answers are maybe and no. Maybe I am ready to be set up on a date. I might be ready to spend some time with someone – and by “spend time with someone” I mean have sex. But, am I ready for a relationship? No. I suppose I could be, but I’ve been trying to be good at being alone; focusing on the pause and clearing out my mind and heart. I’m hoping to be a better me when the next woman strolls into my life. Butch 2.0.

But the questions have been followed by… “What are you looking for?” “What’s the future Mrs. Butch like? Why not write it down?” Ok. I have come up with a pretty good list, but that’s pretty boring. Instead, how about a butch classified ad? What would my ad say? I’m pretty sure this woman doesn’t exist, so there should be no harm in pretending and, er, fantasizing about her. Ahem.

ME:

Big, tall, and strong. 5’10, close to running back size, but slower. Much slower. Mohawk, bleached blonde. Brown eyes, devilish (I’m told) and alternately confused, puppy dog, or hungry when looking at you. No makeup – other than occasional guyliner. Freckles, lots. Pale without sun. Big, strong hands with callouses from rowing and lifting. Body in progress, but also in its 40s.

Smart. Quick on my feet. Hard to argue with but frequently wrong – although I’m irritatingly slow to admit it. [Note: I have plenty of flaws, but I don’t need to point those out in my ad, right?] Good in front of people and crowds. This turns you on. Funny, an embarrassing amount of anecdotes and analogies. Professional, a lawyer. Lots of work obligations, meetings with people, some of whom are attractive and engaging.

Serious about the gym, be-about-it-serious, not talk-about-it-serious. A fanatic about all kinds of theater (I even like opera), especially musicals. You too, but fanaticism not required. Golf, swimming, kayaking, hiking, mountain biking, movies, coffee shops, shopping. Travel to local and exotic places is key. A 5-star resort is OK as long as we sometimes kayak and camp along the river. Mexican food. Craft beer.

A devoted mother to two kids who are mostly adorable and wonderful. Although not with them all the time, I am always their mother. Very connected to my parents who are close.

Strong, intimidating and tough to the whole world except for you and the kids.

YOU:

Smaller and shorter than me. Small enough for me to pick you up and carry you over puddles…into bed. Curvy. Any color hair is cool, long and full enough to put up in a ponytail and tuck behind your ears. Eyes, full of wonder, joy at the world, depth. Eyes that can see me for who I am and love all you see. Skin, pale, tan, or dark. Make up – please, especially lipstick and sexy eye shadow. Not all the time, but not just special occasions. Body, soft and full in the right places, comfortable and fit, not a freak about food (everyone needs a potato chip now and then) or obtuse about it (kale, what’s that?). Healthy. You turn heads when you walk down the street. I like it. Mid 30s to early 40s.

Attitude unguarded and confident. Kind, steady. Patient and balanced. Slow to anger. Quick to forgive. Trusting. Fun, good sense of humor and laugh easily. Good listener. Comfortable in a group and can hold your own. Easy-going, confident. College, I think, but other than that any profession that allows you to support yourself. Veterinarian? Business woman? Adventure guide? Sea World trainer? Ballet dancer? Supportive of me and my career, as I will be of yours.

Stylish and put together. Dresses, skirts, lots of dresses. Blouses and necklaces, dangly earrings, rings, accessorize! Heels often enough for me to fuel my fantasies. Jeans, yes, of course. And my dress shirts with nothing on underneath. Yoga attire is appreciated and distracting. Lingerie welcomed as gifts and worn – even under jeans. Sweats are only for the house and exercise. You smell good, your skin alone and your perfume.

You like the adventure activities I like, plus? The more the better. Music, you are musical – play something, can sing. Maybe an artist. If you are crafty, that’s something you’ll mostly do alone. You’re good with that. You like beer, or at least tolerate it happily. You like to go out and be with friends or go out with just me often. It’s awesome if you cook. Love of travel and adventure is a must. We’ll try things and explore together. You read a book every now and then. You tolerate my gadget fanaticism. You make me see chick flicks (I will pout), but you’ll see Bond movies and The Hobbit, and anything with explosions, car chases, and sexy women. And occasionally, porn. =:o)

No kids for you. Or, maybe you have kids, but no new kids for us together. Maybe you always wanted them but didn’t meet the right woman, were busy in school or the service. Maybe you have kids that are almost grown. You like that I am a mother, like the softness the kids bring out in me. You don’t want to be their mom (no need for another), but you enjoy them and being part of their lives. You understand my kids have another family. You know we must communicate and coordinate. It gives us lots of alone time.

Feminine. People sometimes underestimate your strength, but I never will.

US:

I don’t want a wife, but I don’t want an exotic dancer either. You take care of me sometimes; you see me as a woman (and I am comfortably a woman) and look forward to expressing that. You don’t initiate often, but you are happy I do. I will initiate a lot. You will almost always say yes.

We aren’t threatened by each other’s past – unless you dated Rachel Maddow, Ellen, or kd lang. I might be threatened then. I am in my 40s, there have been significant women in my life. I prefer “history” to “baggage.” You accept that I care about other women, especially my ex.

I’ll always be ready before you, but the way you look when you’re ready will make it worth it.

I’ll hold your bags and sit on the dude couch while you shop.

I’ll bring you flowers and you will swoon over them.

I’ll take out the trash/carry the groceries/kill the bugs unless you want to do these things yourself.

I’ll carry your bags, but not because you can’t.

I’ll be confused sometimes when you explain your feelings, but I’ll try really hard to understand.

You’ll find me a special kind of beer I’ve never had and I will swoon.

I’ll wear any tie you pick out for me, as long as you wear that dress I bought you.

I will carry your lipstick and ID in my ample pockets when we go out and your women’s clothes suck in the pocket department – but excel in the cleavage department.

I’ll carry your kayak to the water and you’ll be ok with getting your hair wet.

I’ll always open doors for you. Always.

We won’t be happy every second, but there will be much more good than bad.

You will always see the best in me, and never assume the worst.

When you look up at me, I’ll pretend to be strong when I’m melting inside.

I don’t expect to be lucky enough to find this woman. I’ve been looking but haven’t found her yet. If I had, she would still be mine and I’d be writing a thank you note to the Universe instead of a classified ad. To the Universe, I say: “On the off chance that we really do put into the world what we want and it comes to us… please mix up a batch of this impossible-to-exist femme and send her my way. Not tomorrow, or even next week, because I want to be ready. That will be soon.”

And to you, this mystical, amazing femme, I say: “I will be ready for you. And if you do show up, I will never let you go. Ever.”

Like this:

Hey.

I see the world in a particular way. This blog is about how I see the world, both the good stuff (like beer) and the bad stuff (like idiots), but hopefully always funny. Leave a comment or drop me an email if you want me to hear how you see the world.

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